Mourning Hill
by Elexandros
Summary: After a hawking lesson goes awry, Orieus sets out on a desperate rescue mission for his new High King.
1. Chapter 1

Okay. This goes out to all my Luffs! To SubOrbital and Elecktrum for their awesome (and useful!) advice, not to mention for kicking my butt into gear with getting this out. And a big thanks for Wiffle (Shauna) for her help with names and the title! I hope everyone enjoys and don't worry...I actually have quite a bit of this written in advance!

* * *

**Mourning Hill: Hawking Lessons**

The weather was warm and peaceful, and the woods were alive with the sounds of animals. Springtime's foothold on Narnia was finally giving way to Summer, and new flowers and life were blooming left and right. Orieus breathed deeply, taking the scent of flowers he had never before known. There was a certain kind of flower that grew in these parts of the woods with bright yellow blossoms on vines that curled their way up the tree trunks, giving the most wonderful smell. Although he had been born after the Witch had imposed her winter, something about these flowers called to the ancient part of him, like some old friend whom you hadn't seen since you were but a child.

Summer was also bringing with it calm, still days, perfect for teaching a hunting lesson or two. (Of course, it was also bringing some rather nasty storms, and though one was definitely on its way, it seemed a ways off yet.) As such, Orieus had decided that instead of another day of fighting practice, he'd let his two young monarchs ride out and teach them a thing or two about hawking.

So far it had turned out to be a wise decision, as the two Kings were having a decidedly large amount of fun. The first few hours were learning all the basics, but by now he had consented that they could actually start using the birds themselves. He glanced over at Edmund, who was under the patient tutelage of Zaurus, another centaur whom Orieus had grown up with. The younger King was biting his lip, brow furrowed in frustrated concentration as the hawk refused to budge from his arm until he got the motion just right.

Peter, on the other hand, seemed to have it. Orieus stepped up beside him, watching as the bird flew from his arm, and disappeared into the trees.

"That's it, Majesty," he said quietly, "Now just wait."

Peter nodded once and scanned the trees, giving his horse a pet as he did so. The pair waited quietly, listening to both the forest and Edmund behind them (who was now swearing under his breath, and being rebuked for it by Zaurus,) and scanning the trees; it shouldn't take long, as the hawk was only to circle and come back.

Of course, Orieus saw the bird coming back before Peter, but soon the boy straightened in his saddle and reached his arm out.

"Just as I showed you…"

But the bird had already landed softly on his outstretched arm. Peter stroked the hawks wings before turned to Orieus, grinning widely. Orieus couldn't help but return it; the boy had the most contagious smile.

Just then, a rather grumpy looking Edmund lead his horse up next to his brother's.

"I see _you_ managed." He grumbled.

"Oh, c'mon, Ed." Peter said, arm drooping a bit under the weight of the bird, "Just give it ago. Try not trying so hard."

Edmund raised an eyebrow, but sighed and, giving the bird a long-suffering look, jerked his arm upwards.

The hawk immediately took off into the trees, leaving Edmund staring after it, mouth agape. It quickly turned into a giant smile as the bird flew a tight circle, and came back to land on his arm.

"I did it! I did it! Peter, did you see-" Edmund suddenly straightened, and composed himself, "I mean, ah, I got it. Yeah."

"Yeah, Ed, you got it." Peter said, hiding a chuckle.

Orieus shared a look over their heads with Zaurus, who shook his head. They just didn't have the heart to tell them that they were using talking hawks.

"Your Majesties," Zaurus said, "Darkness is coming soon. We should be on our way back."

"But I only just got it!" Edmund said, looking put-out, "Can't we stay just a bit longer?"

"Many of the Witch's minions are still lurking, Sire. It would not be wise to stay."

Peter was looking thoughtfully at his brother. He turned to Orieus, still holding his hawk aloft.

"Come on, Orieus, a bit longer." He said evenly, "We've barely left the Cair in weeks. Besides, there's a lovely breeze."

"It is getting late, Sire. And that lovely breeze means a storm is blowing in…" Orieus paused. Peter was giving him _that_ look. That one that only he and little Lucy could do. That one where he used his eyes and made a face that made him look ten times more innocent that he probably was. Orieus hated that look- mostly because it worked each and every time.

Orieus sighed, "I…suppose a bit longer couldn't hurt. But we _will_ be getting back soon."

Peter grinned, "It's a deal, then."

Zaurus made a face, but said nothing, turning his attentions once again to Edmund. The Kings, at least, seemed happy to take full advantage of the time given to them. Orieus pawed impatiently at the ground as Peter had his hawk take flight again, watching it sail again into the dense forest. A storm was coming, and those that blew in from over the Easter Sea always came swiftly.

He turned as Peter started laughing at something Edmund had said, who was once again looking indignant. Zaurus, too, was smiling bemusedly and steadying the younger boy's arm. Orieus folded his arms and watched; the two never ceased to amaze him. They had grown so much in just a few months and he could still recall watching Peter march up to him, holding his new sword aloft, asking to see Aslan. Even though he had known all along, at that point it had yet to really sink in that this person, this _child_ was to lead the army against the Witch. But the youth had proven his worth, as had his brother, and Orieus was sure they would both turn into great men.

"Orieus?"

The centaur looked down, jerked from his thoughts by Peter's voice. He still had a few inches to go before he'd be eye-to-eye with Orieus on a horse.

"My apologies, Sire, I was just…thinking."

"No apologies," Peter said, "I was just…my hawk isn't coming back. Is there a way to call it?"

Orieus looked up and scanned the trees, brow furrowing. Evrae, the hawk, was told to just fly in a circle and return. The pair had been doing a splendid job…why stop now? He looked over and saw Zaurus scanning the trees as well, and Frevae, the other hawk, still on Edmund's arm.

While he didn't want their Majesties to know they had been using talking hawks, an ill feeling was creeping into the back of his mind; swift action would be the best course.

"Frevae, see if you can find Evrae. Bring him back."

"Yes, sir." The hawk replied, taking off from Edmund's arm and disappearing into the canopy.

Edmund rounded on Zaurus.

"They were _talking_ hawks!?"

The other centaur merely gave an apologetic look before turning his attentions back to the darkening skies. He could hear rain spattering on the trees high above, and soon enough, he too was getting wet. Orieus stamped the ground.

Suddenly, the forest grew deathly quiet.

"Sires, we must leave." He said, "…Now."

"But what about the hawks?" Peter asked, taking up his reigns.

"They know the way. Come, we-"

He turned just in time to push Peter aside as a large grey wolf came bursting out from the bushes. Orieus, without time enough to even draw his sword, threw his arm up and managed to knock the wolf aside, but not without large claws ripping through his flesh as a reward. Within seconds, the entire area was swarming with satyrs, dwarves, minotaurs and a myriad of other creatures, teeth bared and weapons drawn. He was about to call for swords, but when he looked up, both his Kings already had theirs drawn, slashing through fur and hide. His right arm now useless, Orieus drew his own sword left-handed and cut down a dwarf in one motion.

For a few moments, it was all teeth and claws and steel, with the world flashing in hot, red bursts as the fury of battle came upon them. Orieus jerked and gritted his teeth as another set of claws raked his flank, and turning to take out whatever was behind him currently, in a flash of lightning, he caught Edmund's horse rearing wildly before turning and fleeing into the wood, sans King. Looking about wildly, he saw the younger, down on one knee; a number of boggles immediately fell upon him, and his face twisted as long, wicked claws tore into his light hunting jacket, shoulder to elbow.

Orieus yelled for Zaurus, but the blonde centaur was already upon them, sword out, and neatly decapitating one. There was a moment of nothing but hot, brown fur and steel when a satyr launched itself at Orieus, and it was a few moments before he could turn his attention back to the fallen King. Zaurus was reaching his hand out to Edmund, bending low, when the axe of a black dwarf flew out of nowhere and buried itself deeply in the other centaur's neck.

Time froze; a trail of blood slipped from the axe and dripped languidly onto Edmund's shocked face. Then Zaurus, looking wide-eyed, fell forward, and landed heavily and unmoving on the forest floor.

The silence broke with a cry from Peter. Orieus whipped his head around in time to see the monarch leap from his horse and dash to his brother, who was once again under siege from the boggles. Orieus reared up and lunged for the two, but even as he started, a huge minotaur jumped in his path. Weapons clashing, Orieus worked to finish the monster off quickly and reach his Kings for a retreat. Time was now more of the essence than ever. But while most of the Witch's minions would fight with wild abandon, making them dangerous in their unpredictability, the huge black creature fought hard, and though he hated to admit it, well. Orieus grunted as the heavy blade connected with more force than he had expected, but with his right arm was still ragged and bleeding, and it was becoming harder for him to match the speed of the blows. Gritting his teeth, Orieus gave a wild feint with his sword, praying.

It worked. The minotaur blocked it with a snarl, giving Orieus just enough time to grab a dagger from his belts and ram it into the creature's neck. It slumped over him, gurgling, and he pushed the beast off him and looked up to see Peter, white faced, grab Edmund by his good arm and practically throw him at Orieus.

"Climb on my back!" Orieus shouted, nearly hauling the younger King up himself anyway. He turned his head again, "Peter!" he called, jerking his chin.

Peter looked up, panting, and nodded. He gave a last thrust with his sword into a dwarf that had jumped up, and started to run to him. There was another flash of lightning, and then-

Peter fell, a strangled cry escaping him. Orieus watched as his young king curled in on himself instinctively, grabbing at his ankle, face twisted: he must have slipped in the wet grass and sodden detritus of the forest.

The creatures were on him in an instant, swarming. He heard a muffled yell come from the pile of beasts, and then a glint of gold as Rhindon was tossed carelessly aside. Edmund yelling behind him, Orieus raised his sword again, preparing to charge, but even as he did so, the boy on his back started to slide off. Orieus threw his hand back to catch the King by his leg. He snapped his head back around; a huge ogre was hauling Peter up by his collar with a triumphant grin on its face.

Orieus and Peter locked eyes: in that moment, behind the surprise and fear in crystaline blue, he saw the fierce determination he knew so well. Then a minotaur brought the hilt of its weapon crashing down onto Peter's temple and the eyes closed as he went limp.

"PETER!" Edmund screamed, "Orieus, do something!"

Orieus did the only thing he knew he could do; he turned and galloped into the forest, intent on getting at least one King home safe.

* * *

Stand by for chapter two! And thanks if you got this far. :) Peace, yinz. 


	2. Chapter 2

Orieus was limping as fast as he could go. On his back, Edmund was silent and unmoving, slumped over and still clutching his injured arm. The rain was still falling hard and fast, and showed no sign up letting up; at least the lightning was offering some illumination to the forest now and then. And although Orieus was trying to keep his mind on the task at hand and get King Edmund home swiftly and safely, a voice in the back of his mind was constantly reminding him of the horrible truth.

_"You left him."_

Promises and vows of fealty and protection, and he left his King behind. The logical part of his mind kept reminding him that it was the best course of action, given the circumstance. And that he could –no, _was_- going back for him, as soon as he saw the younger of the two back to safety.

There was nothing for it; Zaurus was dead, Edmund was injured, and Peter was, like it or not, in the hands of the enemy. Time was of the essence. The rain was falling harder, and had turned the air from pleasantly warm to a deep chill. To top it all off, Orieus could feel his injured side and arm sear with every movement he made. Though he wasn't positive of the extent of his injuries, they certainly felt deep, and seemed to still be bleeding. Between chill and blood loss, Orieus could only grit his teeth and pray that he would be able to return Edmund to Cair Paravel before anything else happened.

Speaking of Edmund, the boy had not made a sound since they fled from the fight.

"Lord Edmund, are you well?"

His only response was a grunt.

"You're injured, Sire. I must know if you are well enough to continue, or if we should stop and find shelter for the night."

He waited for an answer. And waited. He was about to stop and let the boy down when Edmund spoke.

"Keep going till we reach the Cair." There was another pause, "If you're well enough."

His voice was grave, but there was a determination behind it that made a deep feeling of pride well up against the pain of the wounds. Lighting flashed again as thunder roared above them.

"The storm is above us, Sire. Are you certain?"

"Yes."

"Edmund?"

"…Yes?"

"I have no intention of leaving your brother. I will return for him."

He could feel the young King's muscles tensing on his back.

"Then why, why in the name of Aslan, _did_ you leave him?"

"I had no other choice."

Edmund's fist slammed down on his back, right where human met horse. Orieus winced, but ignored it; he had a feeling it wasn't that the king wanted to hit him, so much as he just wanted to hit _something_.

"How," Edmund asked, wavering voice betraying his hurt, "was there no other choice? We could have easily helped him! Orieus! How?"

Orieus wished he could slow and speak to the boy face-to-face, but a swift return was needed. So instead he kept talking over his shoulder.

"We were out numbered, my King. Horribly outnumbered. If I had decided to go into the fray and help your brother, we could have all easily been lost."

He heard a slight hiccuping noise behind him.

"Have hope, my King. I do not believe they will…" He paused, slowly closing his mouth.

"…Kill him." The boy finished for him. Orieus only nodded, wishing he had spoken the words himself.

Small, bony hands gripped his shoulders hard. He heard Edmund swallow in great gulps a few times before he spoke.

"…You…you're sure?"

"Yes, majesty." This was a bit of a lie, but Orieus felt it was the better response, "Though I still wish to rescue him as soon as possible."

Edmund sat a little higher on his back,

"Then hurry, Orieus. If you can."

Orieus just nodded, an almost-smile twitching the corners of his mouth. Edmund was young, yet, so young. And yet he had grown so from that darkly shy boy he had first met. His ordeal under the Witch must be burning at his memory, though, and Orieus wondered if he himself could ever understand it. But he did understand they myriad of reasons why Edmund would want his brother back swiftly.

He galloped on, praying for strength.

* * *

It was nearly an hour before Cair Paravel and the city before her came into sight. Orieus was sure they hadn't ridden that far out, but by now his wounds were making him slightly dizzy, and he wouldn't be entirely shocked if he had turned them horribly around at some point.

The Cair at night was a sight to behold; candles burned at every window, and fires in the watch towers lit the castle up with an almost otherworldly light. It was a beautiful, imposing structure even in bright sunlight, but at night, with lightning from over the Easter Sea illuminating her in glorious flashes, the Cair look spectacular.

Orieus fought the urge to slow down. Surely, the watchmen would be on alert, as neither of their kings had returned when they were supposed to. But he couldn't count on them to come out and help. Sheer willpower was the only thing keeping the centaur moving now.

Rain stung at his face now that they were out of the woods and into the fields surrounding Paravel. The wind, with little in its path to stop it, whipped at them, and he could feel Edmund bury his head in his shoulder. Flying down one of the paths through the tall grass, they seemed to be nearing the Cair at a painfully slow rate.

Then came the most wonderful sound Orieus had heard all night: the horns of the watchmen. They'd seen their approach, and the clear trumpeting echoed above even the thunder. If he squinted, Orieus could make out the massive gates opening in welcome.

It seemed to take forever, but eventually he was racing through the city and finally into the gates. Bells rang above him, signaling the return of their King. Servants and guardsmen rushed up to meet them. Two fauns immediately helped Edmund down, and upon seeing his state, quickly and quietly began to lead him off. Orieus closed his eyes, taking a moment to catch his breath. His lungs were on fire, as were his legs. But he had made it. King Edmund was safe from danger.

"General Orieus? You're injured."

Orieus blinked, startled for a moment. He looked to his right to see a motherly looking bear with spectacles holding a warm cloak in her hands.

"Yes." He said shortly, not feeling up to full sentences.

"Then come into the Cair and the healers will see to you. There's no sense in standing out here, now is there? Honestly, you soldiers have no sense at all sometimes..."

Orieus allowed himself to be shuffled into the healer's wards in the east wing of the Cair, moving slowly, finally having a moment to catch up with himself. When he entered, he was immediately assailed by a gaggle of healers (mostly fauns, who as excellent fretters, tend to make excellent healers,) and immediately was stripped of his overtunic and cloak, as well as the single knife he still had left on his person.

After seen Edmund being cleaned and bandaged, Orieus allowed the same for himself. He was given a tea and several oat cakes (which he was more grateful for than he'd like to admit,) before standing and taking up his knife once again.

"What do you think you're doing, Sir?" One aghast healer asked, clip clopping over to him.

"I'm going to retrieve another sword and go back for King Peter." He explained, slightly agitated.

"Oh no you will not." The faun admonished, "You just made an hour long run in the freezing rain with multiple injuries. You're in no fit condition to go anywhere, General."

"My condition aside, our good King is still in those woods and in need of assistance…"

"You've only been here thirty minutes--"

"And he's been our there for an hour and thirty minutes--"

"And do you think he does not have his own wits about him?" The healer cut in sharply, making Orieus stop and stare, "Do you think that clever young lad hasn't taken in a single thing you've taught him about survival? No, I have more faith in him than that and I should hope that you do as well. Now you are not going to be of any use to him in the condition you're in. You at least need to catch your breath and gather yourself before you can do anything for him."

Orieus stared at the faun, (wasn't his name Ghebren?) and considered his words, a feeling of shame starting to creep upon him. Peter wasn't helpless, and never had been…he was clever and resourceful, and Orieus himself had taught him and Edmund and their sisters what to do in just such a scenario.

He put a hand to his chest: his lungs were still burning, and his legs suddenly felt weak from the run. Ghebren seemed to see the change in him and shook his head, a small smile at his lips.

"I'll get you some more tea, warm you up." He said, tottering off.

Orieus reached out a hand to a table, steadying himself when there was suddenly a pale hand on his arm. He looked down to see Edmund, his injured arm in a sling, looking up at him, eyes glinting.

"I understand." He said simply.

"Sire?"

Edmund's eyes never even blinked, "I know why you had to leave him. I understand, I did all along, I just…I didn't want to accept it. But understand, Orieus, this means I'm putting my trust in you to get him back to me in one piece."

Orieus gave Edmund a small smile, "I fully intend to."

"Good." The young king replied, before smiling a little himself as Ghebren came back, another steaming cup of tea in his hands, thrusting it at Orieus. The centaur smiled his thanks and drank deeply, Edmund's words renewing his sense of love and duty for his Kings.

* * *

A/N: Again, big ol' thanks to Subbie, Wiff, and Elecktrum for all their help! 


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: Not mine.

A/N: I'm not dead! Only kinda mostly dead. (Which isn't all dead, I'm still slightly alive.) My only excuse is that I'm coming close to graduation, and I've been swamped with work. That, and my creative writing class is my most HATED class ever, and it's taken a lot of the spark from my will to write. So my apoligies, the next chapter won't take nearly as long. Really. I swear it. ...And thanks to SubOrbital for the help. :)

* * *

Orieus examined the sword, fresh from the sharpening block. Even in the pinkish dawn light it glinted golden. He nodded his thanks to the dwarf before sheathing it with a satisfactory ring and turning out the door. He was in a foul mood: that healer had put a sleeping drug in the tea.

"_If you're to save our King, I won't have you doing it while you're witless from lack of sleep!"_

He was right. Damn him, he was right. But, so far as Orieus was concerned, sleeping until dawn while Peter was alone with the enemy was inexcusable. At least for now. Oh, how he had unleashed upon that faun. (Hell hath no fury as a General without his King.)

_"This is precious time you've wasted!"_

_"Any more precious than our King?" Ghebren responded evenly, though looking highly affronted. "I'd hardly want for you to be asleep on your hooves as you blunder into the enemy encampment!"_

Damn him.

The worst part was, that tottering two-footer was right. As much as Orieus didn't want to admit it at the moment, it was the truth. To attempt to go on a rescue mission while injured and exhausted would be more than foolish, but it would put Peter in just as much danger, if not more.

Ghebren wasn't just good at his job: he was the best. The faun had served in Aslan's own army, and should the need for a campaign arise again, Healer Ghebren would be at the top of the General's list of people who would come to serve their King. And when Peter was safely back, he may even forgive the healer for the Horses Ass comment.

For, now, though, Orieus hurried his way through the giant halls of the Cair, adjusting the straps on his belts. He didn't even break his stride as a grave-looking Satyr rushed up and walked beside him, having to do an odd sort of skip-step now and then to keep up with the centaurs longer strides.

"We have a single report." He said anxiously, "That those who took our King are moving swiftly south-west…"

"Yes?" Orieus inquired, arching an eyebrow. "Is there more?"

The satyr nodded, doing another hop-step.

"It's believed they're heading for Mourning Hill."

Orieus didn't stop, but his face darkened.

"Are you certain? Who gave the report?"

"Sir Giles himself, sir. He was the only one to get close enough."

"And what of our other scouts?"

"No word, Sir." The satyr said, shaking his head. "Sir Giles is the only scout we've heard from, and that came from a courier."

Orieus nodded, frowning. His grip tightened on the sword at his side.

"I understand. Keep me updated."

The satyr nodded, realizing he was dismissed and turned down a hallway, finally able to take up a normal cadence again. For his part, Orieus picked up the pace; if the report on Mourning Hill was true –and he had never been given reason to distrust the Fox- then there would be even less time than he had hoped. He continued walking, picking up his pace, and scowling...unitl all at once he stopped.

"My Queen?"

Orieus looked down, and indeed, there was Queen Lucy standing at his flank, surprise on her face. She curtsied awkwardly, trying to balance herself while keeping a grip on a little bundle she held in her arm.

"You heard me?"

"Not until you were right next to me." He assured, making the youngest Queen break into a relieved smile. She'd been practicing walking quietly, being assured by her sister that a true Queen makes no noise when she moves. However, Orieus had the sneaking suspicion that she didn't like bothering to lace up the delicate slippers that had been made for her, and was instead trying to hide the fact that she'd taken to walking about barefoot. The little Queen straightened, before holding the bundle up to him, standing on her tiptoes, revealing her bare feet.

"I made these," She informed him, and the General realized it was actually several handkerchiefs, "It's been raining, so Peter might have a cold. Oh! And that tin has his favorite tea in it. There's more than enough for both of you, so it'll warm you both up."

She said this all very fast, and Orieus' eyes widened as it sunk in. He smiled, then, taking the little bundle and both her hands in his. He marveled for a moment at how small she was.

"My Queen, thank you. These will be most useful."

Lucy's face brightened considerably.

"Oh good!" she chirped, "And…could you do one more thing, please?"

"Anything, my good Queen."

"Could you tell Peter I'll have pancakes for him when he gets back? They're his favorite, you know. His very favorite."

Orieus smiled, face gentling.

"I shall, My Lady," he promised, "You have my word."

"Thank you!" Lucy breathed, before suddenly throwing her arms around him in an awkward hug. Orieus looked down for a moment, honestly befuddled (he couldn't recall any other person doing this to him,) before relaxing and patting her back with one hand. He'd never met anyone with such an utter, unquestioning faith as this young girl had…much less, such a faith in him. The thought that he may not be able to bring Peter back did not seem to even occur to her.

"Thank you."

Lucy looked up at him, breaking into another bright, contagious smile.

"You're welcome!" She responded happily, before giving him another squeeze. She backed away a bit, face alight, before turning and rushing off, feet padding loudly on the polished floor. Orieus watched her, holding the little package tightly, hope renewed.

* * *

Orieus watched as his bag was double-checked. No, not double. Triple. Normally he'd go through this process himself (and indeed, he had earlier,) but at the moment, a certain someone was absolutely insisting on doing it himself.

"My King, I assure you, I am well prepared."

"What about food?"

"You already saw my provisions."

"Medical supplies?"

"I have bandages, medicines, and herbs."

"What about…what if Peter gets bored?"

"I assure you, King Edmund, that is the least of my worries."

Edmund continued to stare into the bag, frowning and sullen-looking, as though trying to will something to be wrong with it.

"What about socks?"

Orieus blinked.

"Socks, sire?"

Edmund turned to Orieus, a slow grin spreading across his face.

"No…you wouldn't consider socks, would you? Having hooves and all." He smirked, squaring his shoulders, "If its been raining, then Peter's boots are probably soaked through. And so are his socks, and if his feet are wet and cold, then he's bound to get sick. So you should have a pair of good, clean, dry socks for him."

Orieus arched an eyebrow, opening his mouth before closing it again, giving Edmund a curt nod.

"No. I hadn't thought of that," he admitted. After all, he was not used to rescuing people with feet. "Do you, then, have any socks for me to pack?"

Edmund's jaw jerked shut, eyes widening just slightly.

"I will." He decided. "Take your bag and come with me, General. I'll get you some socks."

Bemused, Orieus retied and shouldered his pack, clopping along next to Edmund, who was walking quite fast. The young king said not a word as he made his way for Peter's room, throwing the doors open and dashing for the wardrobe. He pilfered the inner drawers as though they were his own (and Orieus suspected he'd raided his brother's closet before,) and quickly enough turned to him, two pairs of thick, wooly socks in his hands.

"These ones." He said, thrusting the bundled socks at the centaur, who took them, before examining them.

"Do they have songbirds stitched on them?"

"Yes. And Peter absolutely hates them for it, which is why they're still so nice and thick. So they're perfect."

Orieus studied the youth for a moment before stuffing the socks into his bag.

"That is…rather robust logic."

Edmund smiled, satisfied, and Orieus bowed, before turning to leave.

"General Orieus. If you don't return with my brother…with Peter being very much alive…a handful of Nasties aren't the only one's I'm going to be coming for."

The centaur turned, and was nearly taken aback by the look on the young boys face. He nodded again, having absolutely no doubt of the fury that would be waiting for him under the hands of the Just, should he return without Magnificence.


End file.
